


3am

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Romance, five times fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1279732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or Five Times Darren Calls Chris at 3AM, and One Time Chris Calls Darren</p>
            </blockquote>





	3am

**Author's Note:**

> for Trish uwu

**1\. Because of an Emergency:**

Chris is just on the precipice of falling asleep when his phone starts to buzz on his desk across the room, where he'd plugged it in to charge. He keeps his eyes shut and waits for it to stop. Whoever is calling him can leave a voicemail and he'll deal with it in the morning. Once the room is silent, he focuses on his breathing, letting his body relax as it prepares for sleep again.

His phone starts to vibrate.

This time, Chris opens his eyes, glaring into the darkness and counting slowly up in his head until the buzzing stops. His eyes flick to his alarm clock—just past three in the morning. Okay, sure, he's a known insomniac amongst his friends, but does that mean they have to help it along by calling him at ungodly hours of the night? _Some friends_ , he thinks as he closes his eyes. If he ignores it, he's sure they'll give up.

They don't.

The fifth time his phone starts to ring, Chris finally gets up. He's at the point where he's starting to get concerned—maybe something is wrong, maybe someone is _hurt_ —but most of him is still generally annoyed, especially when he runs into his dresser because the lights are off and he's squinting due to being groggy.

By the time he reaches his desk, his phone has stopped ringing, but it only takes a few seconds before it starts again.

Chris is more than a little surprised when it's Darren's face—pulled into some hideous expression he'd insisted on making when he'd taken the photo himself—that fills the screen of his phone. He blinks at it through a few vibrates before he finally answers with a very rough, half-awake, "Hello?"

"Chris!" Darren's voice is too loud, and Chris jerks away from the phone like he's personally insulted by it. "Man, thank god you answered, I was just about to give up—"

 _Damn_.

"—remember how I was going up to see my parents this weekend? Well I thought, you know what would be fun? I'll drive! And man, it was fucking fun, both the driving and being there, oh man, I went to this club—"

"Darren," Chris croaks out, rubbing at his eyes and willing patience into his voice. "You couldn't just tell me all of this tomorrow? When we see each other?" They both have have a call on set, and, thankfully, it isn't until noon.

"I would have, but um… My car didn't quite make it back to LA." Chris can practically hear the frown in Darren's voice. "It sort of broke down, and that's sort of the reason I'm calling you."

"Your car broke down?" Chris feels a little more awake every second he's on the phone, and definitely less annoyed now that he knows Darren is calling for a legitimate reason. "Did you call AAA?"

"Yeah, and apparently a tow truck is on the way, but the problem is that they can only take me to the closest garage."

"They won't take you home?" Chris frowns.

"Well, it's a little _far_ …" Darren sounds suddenly hesitant.

"Where exactly are you right now?" The pause that follows Chris's question is unusually long.

"Um, my phone tells me I'm somewhere north of Santa Barbara? I'm on the side of the road somewhere past Refugio State Beach?"

"Fuck…" Chris whispers. It's not _insanely_ far, but it's not exactly close, either. "So you're calling me because?"

"Because I was wondering if you would come and get me?" Chris doesn't think he's ever heard Darren sound so _unsure_ before, although he can understand why. They've only known each other for a few months, and while Chris definitely considers Darren a friend, he's never realized that Darren counted him as such a _close_ friend. After all, you don't just call up a casual acquaintance and ask them to drive two hours in the middle of the night to pick you up off the side of the street.

It's a pain in the ass, and Chris is _exhausted_ , and he'll be lucky if he doesn't end up on the side of the road somewhere because he nods off behind the wheel and crashes into the ditch. But he can't help but feel touched by the gesture—that Darren thinks that Chris is dependable enough to be called in these situations, that Darren trusts Chris enough to come through for him.

"Let me put on my shoes," he says as way of answer, and the breath of relief that Darren sighs out is so strong that Chris is _sure_ for a second he can feel it.

"You are the fucking best, I am going to pay you back for this, I swear, like. Seriously. All the diet coke you could ever want, a giant breakfast, _massages_."

Chris laughs as he grabs his keys.

"Don't go making promises you can't keep. And keep me updated on where exactly you are so I don't end up driving to San Luis Obispo."

"Seriously, _the best_."

Chris is still smiling when he hangs up.

**2\. Because of an "Emergency":**

The call wakes him up. His ringer is on because he's expecting an important call sometime between the hours of six and ten, and Chris has been in and out of a restless sleep since forcing himself to turn in early. He doesn't want to chance drugging himself up and missing the call, but his anxiety over the call itself makes it hard to sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

He doesn't even look at the clock, or register how dark it still is, or glance to see who's calling. No, Chris grabs wildly for the phone as he sits up, trying to clear his throat so he sounds like he wasn't just sleeping. When he answers the phone, it's with a crisp, "Hello, Chris Colfer speaking."

"Duh," is the response, and it draws Chris up short for a second. "Considering it's your phone I called, I was kind of betting on you answering."

"…Darren?" Chris asks quizzically, and even pulls the phone back to double-check. The picture is different now, Darren's face pressed up against Chris's and the biggest grin on his face while Chris's own is somewhere between two expressions and therefore absolutely awful. Yet Chris can't make himself change it.

"The one and only," he chirps back, and Chris has to draw the phone back again to look at the time. It's nearly 3:30am.

"Are you drunk?" Chris asks in confusion, eyebrows furrowed, and falls back against his pillows.

"No. A little buzzed, maybe, but not like piss ass drunk or anything," Darren clarifies, and Chris rolls his eyes.

"So you're not calling me to come pick you up from a bar in San Diego?"

"Sheesh, need a ride at three in the morning _one time_ , and suddenly it's just this thing that never dies, huh?"

"You needed a ride at _three in the morning_."

"…fair point, good sir. No, that's not why I'm calling, but I do need your help." Darren pauses, seemingly for dramatic effect, and it unfortunately works like a charm on Chris and his sleep-addled mind. "Now, this is extremely important, and I need you to answer honestly…" Another pause. "…is Napoleon French?"

"…what?"

"Is Napoleon French? I have been in a debate about it with like seven people tonight, and I just thought to myself, "Fuck, you know who would know? _Chris_." So I thought I'd ask you."

"You know who else would know? _Google_ ," Chris retorts, even though he can't help but feel a flutter in his heart that Darren's first thought was _him_. He immediately tells the flutter to shut the fuck up, though.

"My fingers are not very nimble when I've been drinking. I'd probably end up finding out the origins to neapolitan ice cream."

Chris snorts at that, can't help it, and smiles.

"Okay, um… Let me think." Chris blinks, drawing back into his memory like he's searching throw a filing cabinet for a section labeled _French History_. "He was born in… Corsica, yeah, Corsica, which is an island off the coast of Italy, but I believe at the time he was born the island belonged to France? I think it still does... But, um, the inhabitants were, or are, I guess, considered French citizens, even though his ancestors were Italian. So… I guess he could be either or, or both, really."

Darren hums thoughtfully down the line.

"I guess we're all wrong then. Huh. Thanks. If I was talking to you in person and not through a phone, I'd be hugging you. I guess I could hug the phone."

"What was that about not being drunk?" Chris can't help but tease. "But it's fine, really. I'm happy to help. Glad my endless knowledge of European history is of use to someone."

"It's fucking _awesome_ , man. I love that you love history. I mean, it's just like stories, yeah? Like these stories that _happened_."

" _Okay_ ," Chris draws out, a second away from laughing. "I think you need to be cut off, and I think I need to go back to sleep. I have—"

"That big call in the morning, right? Shit, I forgot, I'm sorry. I totally woke you up, didn't I?"

"It's fine—"

"It's going to go great, man. Like. You're going to blow them out of the fucking _water_. Let me know how it goes, okay?"

For a second, Chris feels like he can't breathe, and closes his eyes as he clutches his phone and the seemingly endless well of faith that Darren seems to have in him.

"I will."

**3\. Because… Just Because:**

Chris has been exhausted lately, and it really shouldn't surprise anyone that he just falls asleep, lights on, glasses still perched on his nose, laptop open on the bed beside him, and phone lost somewhere in the creases of his comforter. When it starts to vibrate and wakes him up, it's terrifying and disorienting to open his eyes to bright, artificial light and the uncomfortable scratch of real clothes, not to mention his ringing phone which sounds about eight hundred times louder than normal.

He fumbles around, nearly knocking his laptop from the bed as he digs to find it, but it stops. He sits there in utter confusion, hand reaching up to fix his glasses out of habit more than his half-vision, and then it starts to ring again.

 _Where are you?_ he'd be saying out loud, if his voice would catch up his body and realize that he's _awake_. He finds it, and briefly registers the picture on the front—Darren, his lips pinched towards the camera as if he was going in to kiss the lens.

"'lo?" He rasps down the line as he answers, and then yawns, big and loud.

"…shit, you were asleep," is Darren's very-awake answer, and Chris looks down at himself and his fully-clothed body, looks around at the room and the screensaver playing across his laptop.

"I think I fell asleep by accident," Chris tells him, reaching over and shutting his laptop before tucking it onto his nightstand. He needs to stand up, and change, because he feels sweaty and gross and uncomfortable, but he's not sure his body could support that decision just yet.

"Yeah?" Darren asks with interest.

"My lights are still on, and my laptop was open, and I'm wearing jeans…"

" _Ouch_. Falling asleep in jeans is not fun."

"No," Chris replies, and instantly needs to be out of his jeans at the reminder. He starts to wiggle out of them while still lying down—he doesn't normally sleep in his briefs, and he'll still have to get up to turn the light off, but at least he won't have to worry about trying to stand and perform a circus act to get out of his clothing.

"…are you taking them off right now?"

"Why are you calling me?" Chris asks, eyebrows pinched in both annoyance and concentration. He kicks his jeans off and immediately feels better.

"…I dunno," Darren replies, with the vocal equivalent of scuffing his foot against the ground. "I was bored."

"You were bored?"

"Yeah."

"So you called me?"

"Yep."

"At…" Chris looks at the clock. "Nearly three in the morning?"

"Looks like it."

"…okay." Chris isn't really sure what to do with that information, so he just pushes it aside for the time being—something for a more awake Chris to deal with later.

"I feel like it's been awhile since we talked," Darren continues, and there's a weird quality to his voice that Chris can't quite decipher.

"It's been like… A week?" Chris isn't exactly sure. It's not like it's something he keeps track of on his calendar or anything.

"That constitutes awhile." Darren sounds defensive, but not in the way Chris would expect. It's almost like… Like Darren is being defensive towards _himself_.

At that point, Chris runs out of things to say, too tired to keep up any resemblance of polite conversation he would otherwise force himself to maintain when fully conscious. But this is Darren, and Darren doesn't need Chris to be polite. In fact, Darren usually has more than enough to say to keep the conversation going with hardly any input from Chris. But this time Darren doesn't seem to mind the absolute silence. In fact, he seems perfectly content to sit there and listen to Chris breathing while Chris listens to his in return.

It's strangely soothing, and reminds Chris of the white noise machine he used to have to help him sleep but that never really worked for him. Yet Chris can feel his eyelids grow heavier with each of Darren's exhales.

"I did take off my pants," he finally says, and Darren's breathing turns into a soft chuckle.

"Good for you," Darren replies, voice gentle like a caress.

"Need to turn the light off," Chris mumbles.

"Is it bothering you?"

"No."

"Then just leave it. You can afford the electric bill."

"Yeah…" Chris smiles at the idea of not having to get up. He's laying down and he can't remember when exactly that happened, but he turns his face so that his phone is sandwiched between his ear and his pillow. "You make me sleepy."

"…is that you calling me boring?"

"No…" Chris murmurs. "No, it's a good thing."

Maybe Darren keeps talking, and maybe Chris does, too, but in the morning the only thing he remembers is falling asleep to the sound of Darren's voice.

**4\. Because It's an Accident:**

Chris is staring at his phone, cradling it in his hands, his eyes shot red and aching, when it starts to ring. He doesn't even hesitate, barely registers the candid of Darren that flashes on the screen, before he answers and lifts it to his ear.

"Darren—" he breathes a sigh of relief. "I wasn't sure if you were going to call, I didn't know if…" Chris trails off and closes his eyes, and that's when he hears the strange noise on the other end of the line. A scuffing sound over what sounds like maybe traffic and a group of voices.

"Darren?" Chris tries, and when there isn't an answer, his heart thuds like a lead weight to the bottom of his stomach. Because Darren hadn't called him—his butt had. Which would probably be funnier if it wasn't so heart breaking.

Chris let's out a wet laugh, pressing his eyes into his hand. He should hang up, he should, but… But he doesn't. He can't make out Darren's voice or laugh or anything, just the sound of his back pocket, but Chris can't make himself hang up.

So he talks instead.

"I shouldn't have said that," is how he starts, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet of his own bedroom. "I shouldn't have… I _am_ tired, Darren, I am… I am so tired, all the time, but not because of you. Not _of_ you. Never… It's never because of you, and I hate that I made you think it was." Chris grips his comforter in his hand and closes his eyes.

Darren can't hear this, any of this, but he keeps talking because he _needs_ to talk right now. He'll no doubt say all of these words again, but speaking them to Darren's pocket feels like being able to write a rough draft, to figure out the words he needs to say before he has to say them for real.

"I wish this was easier, I do, and I know you do, too, but we also both knew what we signed up for, what we… We knew there would be sacrifices, that it would be hard, but it was worth it, wasn't it? It's… It's still worth it. To me it's still worth it, and I know I complain, and I know I take it out on you when I shouldn't because I knew what I was getting myself into. We both come with a thousand strings attached, and there are a lot of people to be angry at, but I shouldn't be angry at you. You're the closest person, the easiest target, and when I'm there I'm just… I'm _there_ and I need to be angry, and it's ridiculous how easy it is to be angry at you sometimes.

"But I think it's because you make me feel _so much_. You make me feel so much, Darren, and I don't know how to deal with it. I'm just… Overloaded by it, and I don't know how to deal with it, and so I lash out and I get angry and I don't… I'm not even making sense right now."

Chris takes a few moments to breathe. He wonders where Darren is, what he's doing. The noise around him is outside, but the voices change, a mess of garbled background that comes and goes like passing traffic. Chris imagines him walking somewhere, surrounded by the remnants of LA nightlife that still exists at nearly three in the morning.

"I wish you were here," Chris whispers, eyes closed. "I wish that you hadn't walked out, that I hadn't yelled at you to leave, because I want you to be here. I _always_ want you to be here, and maybe that's part of the problem. I'm not used to needing someone the way I need you, Darren. I don't know how to do it." He swallows, thickly.

"I hope you call me for real, but if you don't, I'm going to call you. I'm going to let you walk and clear your head and think, and I'm going to call you, because I'm not… I'm not _done_ , and neither are you. You can't be." His voice cracks and Chris can feel the urge to cry again press at his eyes, but he swallows it down, pushes it back, and forces himself to breathe.

"I haven't told you yet, but I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you, and this is an awful time to say it, but I'm… I am _terrified_ to tell you. Which is so stupid, because it's _you_. And I've never wanted to be one of those people, one of those horrible clichés of a person in love, but if you don't love me back it really feels like I'll break into a million pieces and just die and… And not knowing is better than knowing that you don't, but I… I think I still need to tell you. For real. Soon. I will."

It's still just background sound, and Chris breathes again. He feels settled, calmer, the edge of his emotions being rounded out and softened as he airs them out. He wonders if Darren had been listening if he would have been able to say all of those things, but Chris is still learning. Talking about himself, letting people in, letting _Darren_ in, is still difficult. But he's learning, every day, and Darren is teaching him how to love and maybe even how to be loved.

That's when Chris finally hangs up. Chances are he won't be sleeping any time soon, but at least he knows where he stands now. It's just a matter of finding out where Darren stands.

**5\. Because I Miss You:**

When the call comes in, it's just after midnight, but Chris knows that it's after three for Darren. He takes a moment to smile at the picture that comes up on the screen, Darren's lips pressed into his cheek and the biggest smile on his own face. It makes the part of him that currently feels empty _ache_.

"Don't you have an interview to be up for in a few hours?" Chris says in lieu of greeting when he answers.

"Maybe," Darren replies, sounding very much like a petulant child who's just been reprimanded.

"Go to sleep," Chris tells him.

"I am asleep." Darren pauses. "This—"

"I'm still not going to do the Lord of the Rings thing with you."

" _Dammit_ ," Darren mutters, and Chris can hear the sound of a bed creaking beneath him as he shifts around. "Worth a try."

"You say that every time."

"And it's worth a try every time. One day, Colfer, one day I'm going to crack you," Darren threatens playfully, and Chris just smiles.

"Sure you will." It comes out playful and disbelieving, even though Chris is pretty sure that Darren will eventually succeed.

"God, I miss you," Darren suddenly says, and Chris closes his eyes as if that might suddenly transport him to Darren's side.

"I miss you, too," he whispers back. "Only a few more days of press though, right, and you'll be back?"

"Yeah. Thank fucking god. Not that I'm not—"

"I know," Chris says, before Darren can get too far into defending himself—like he _needs_ to defend himself to Chris, when Chris understands exactly where he's coming from. They're both grateful for what they have, what they've been given, the opportunities that have been laid at their feet, but that doesn't stop the lives they lead from draining their energy, from making them long for a comfy bed and a familiar pair of arms.

Especially when you can't let on that you're yearning for anything at all.

"I just can't wait to be home," Darren continues with a sigh, and Chris can practically see him scrubbing fingers through his curls. Chris wishes they were his fingers. "I can't wait to see you."

Chris smiles, wondering if he'd be twisting a cord around his finger if his phone had one.

"I can't wait to see you, either." Chris twists on his own bed, reclining back on the pillows. He doesn't plan on sleeping yet, but there's something about the joint comfort of his bed and the sound of Darren's voice. "You do realize we're being one of those couples, right?"

"The disgusting kind? Yeah. I don't even fucking care." When Darren laughs, Chris can practically hear how tired he is. "Sometimes I just need to hear your voice, all right? I don't care if it makes me disgusting or cheesy."

"It does make you those things," Chris affirms. "But it's okay, because I'm those things, too. Especially when it comes to you. Hate you a little bit for it."

"Nah, you love me," Darren rebuts.

"I do love you." Chris still smiles every time he says it, wonders if he'll ever be able to say it _without_ smiling.

"That's good, because I love you, too."

There's a silence between them then, one that they both revel in. They're apart now, sure, like they've been apart before and like they'll certainly be apart again, but there's a still a certain peace and happiness in that silence, the one that reminds them that they love each other.

"I should probably sleep, huh?"

"Probably."

"Sing me a lullaby?"

Chris snorts.

"How about I read you what I wrote today instead?" Chris suggests, pulling his laptop closer.

"Perfect. You tell the best bedtime stories."

*

*

 **1\. Because I Need to See You** :

Chris is sitting in the back of a car, eyes working to stay open as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket. It's almost 4am, and he's breaking a lot of rules, but he doesn't really care.

Darren doesn't answer on the first ring, or the second, but on the last ring of the third try, Chris is greeted with a very drowsy, "What's wrong?"

"I took a red-eye," Chris rushes to say. His body is exhausted, but he feels giddy. Either because he's over-tired and delirious, or because there's some kind of adrenaline rush that comes with doing something he's not supposed to be doing.

Flying home early and calling Darren? Definitely something he's not supposed to be doing.

"What?" Darren suddenly sounds more awake.

"I'm back in LA. Right now. I'm heading home."

"But… You hate sleeping on planes," Darren points out.

"Yes, which means I'm exhausted right now, but… It's worth it. I didn't want to get off a plane tonight and dive straight into something after so many days of appointments and interviews and just…" Even thinking about it makes Chris feel so tired. He just wants one day, just needs _one day_ , but at the same time he knows that the sooner he finishes all of this, the more time he'll have to himself. "I wanted to see you. I _need_ to see you. Can you come over?"

"I'm already looking for my keys," Darren mumbles.

"All I really want to do is sleep, though, is that okay? If you—"

"I would love to sleep with you," Darren cuts off. "I mean, in like a non-fucking way. Unless the fucking way is on the table?"

Chris laughs, louder than he means to, and feels like he needs to slap a hand over his mouth. Like his laughter is some kind of clue as to what he's up to, and like maybe the driver is going to rat him out.

"Maybe later, after regular sleeping."

"Regular sleeping is good, too."

"Little spoon dibs."

"We must be soul mates, because I am definitely feeling a big spoon vibe right now."

Chris leans back against the car seat and chances closing his eyes, willing himself not to fall asleep.

"Must be."

 


End file.
